


The Elf King and the Bard

by Animal_Arithmetic



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rating May Change, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, disaster bi jaskier, missing scene plus fix it, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23045599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animal_Arithmetic/pseuds/Animal_Arithmetic
Summary: When Filavandrel let them go, Jaskier offered him a place for him and his people to live, to thrive.And he offered to help him get his people back on their feet, help them get better, help them any way he could.He just didn't imagine he would end up truly loving the elf king after all was said and done.
Relationships: Jaskier/Filavandrel
Comments: 51
Kudos: 210
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. The Offer

**Author's Note:**

> If no one else is gonna write Jaskier/Filavandrel, then I'll write it my own damn self. Don't get me wrong--I love Geraskier--but I accidentally fell in love with this pairing, too.
> 
> Also yeah I can't write exactly how they speak in the show (I've not got a chance to read the books yet) so ya get what ya get.

In the end, Filavandrel graciously let them go. Toruviel set about untying Geralt while the elf king worked on Jaskier’s bonds. The elf was so close that Jaskier could smell the earthiness and dustiness and desperation on him. But Filavandrel’s fingers were nimble and quick and gentle as he undid the rope keeping Jaskier captive. His face was soft, seemingly apologetic, and Jaskier couldn’t help falling a little bit in love with him.

It was a problem he had, according to his mother.

Jaskier couldn’t help that he just loved humanity. Elves were no different from humans, after all.

“I’m sorry,” Filavandrel murmured, turning to look where the lute had been smashed in. “About your lute.”

Behind Jaskier, Geralt was grumbling and pushing away Toruviel’s hand, standing himself and following after her for their items. Well, mostly Geralt's items. Everything Jaskier owned was back at the inn. Jaskier shrugged, rubbing at his wrists where the rope had bitten into his skin. “It’s fine,” he said quietly in Filavandrel’s language. He deserved the respect, anyway. Besides, it was a beautiful, nearly forgotten language. “I can get a new one.”

Filavandrel looked at him for a long moment, crouched in front of him, preventing him from standing. “I have one,” he replied in his own language. “Take it, as an apology.”

“I couldn’t—”

“You shall.” Filavandrel stood, then, and moved towards the other side of the cave. He picked up a rather marvelous lute and brought it to Jaskier. “We have no use for it, anyway.”

It was _gorgeous_. Simply the most beautiful lute Jaskier had ever seen. He gently grasped it, running loving fingers over the soft wood, plucking gently at the strings. It needed a bit of tuning, of course, but that would be simple enough to do.

“She’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Filavandrel said softly, smiling fondly. Or, well, maybe Jaskier was just reading a bit too much into it, but he was hopeful that Filavandrel at least didn’t hate him. “It suits you.”

“Thank you, truly.” Jaskier carefully placed the strap over his head.

It wasn’t fair, how these people had been treated, and he wished he could do something about it.

“Toruviel,” he said, turning just enough to watch her help Geralt separate his things out from the mess they had made of it. “Will she be alright? Can I bring you medicine?”

“We’ll be fine.”

That wasn’t exactly an answer. Jaskier frowned, watching the way Toruviel moved gently, as if exhausted and in pain. Perhaps... “I can help.” He turned back to the elf king, standing straighter. They were almost the same height, Jaskier maybe a bit taller. But he was able to look the other right in the eye and see the shock there. “I’m a story-teller. A bard. People listen to my stories—usually, anyway. But—” He turned back to Toruviel who was coughing, doubled over and spitting at their feet, Geralt shifting somewhat nervously beside her, as if unsure what to do. “If I write a song about how Geralt defeated you, let it spread a little, you could get away—”

“And have you spread lies?” Filavandrel spit out, eyes dark and narrowed and so, so angry. “Put us in a bad light to save your skin?”

“ _No_ —to _save_ you,” Jaskier insisted. “Listen—I know how humans work. They want you dead and would hate you even more for letting the Witcher and I leave willingly. They think you’re evil, that you’ll come after them instead.” He winced as Filavandrel looked away, crossing his arms. But he didn’t move back, didn’t step away, didn’t put distance between their hushed conversation. “If I tell them that Geralt defeated you, you could slip away, unseen.”

“But where would we go?” Filavandrel grumbled. “We have _nothing_.”

But Jaskier did.

“Go to the coast,” he pleaded, reaching out and taking Filavandrel’s hands in his. They were much rougher than he expected. “Towards Oxenfurt. I know it’s a long trip, but—I have a fortress you can use. It’s been abandoned—I was given it as a joke—” A cruel, cruel joke from his father when it was revealed he had been at Oxenfurt studying music instead of politics or ‘something worthwhile.’ Instead of the nice parcel of land he had been promised before, he received the land surrounding the fortress, abandoned due to the crumbling cliff it sat on. “It’s in poor shape,” he hurried to say when Filavandrel tried to cut in. “Really poor shape. It will take work to restore it. But _go there_. Help your people.”

“I can’t just—just take _your_ land,” Filavandrel said, sounding offended. “I want _my_ land.”

“Fila, darling,” Jaskier pleaded, tugging him closer, close enough their breaths mingled. He tried his hardest to ignore the way Filavandrel’s breath hitched. “Your people are dying. Redania has more resources, better land, fishing. You can _thrive_ instead of withering away into nothing.”

“I can’t just take your land.” But Filavandrel sounded defeated, almost. Hopefully caving in.

“Not like I’m using it,” Jaskier replied with a gentle smile.

Filavandrel sighed, squeezing his hands. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. “Fine. But where is it? Or will you lead us there?”

“Stay here a week,” Jaskier replied with a grin. “Gather your things. Save your strength. Head to Oxenfurt.” He bent down to draw a quick map. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. “It will take you a while to get there. I’ll be there in a month. To the east of Oxenfurt, there is a cave and a clearing you can rest in. There’s a pillar at the opposite end of the clearing, almost as tall as the trees.” He even drew a small example of the clearing, tapping the tiny pillar with his finger. “I will wait here for you, every twilight until midnight.”

“For how long?”

Jaskier’s hand twitched, messing up the drawing. How long could he afford? “Three months. I’ll wait for you for three months. Hopefully that will give you all enough time to get there.”

He looked up just as Geralt moved as if to leave, only pausing briefly at the mouth of the cave to look back at him. An odd look came over his face, but he didn’t say anything as he turned and left. Damn it. He needed to go.

“Ah,” said Filavandrel as Jaskier scurried to leave. “I see.”

“What?”

“You’re in love with him.”

“I’m in love with almost anyone I speak to.”

Filavandrel didn’t answer to that. Perhaps Jaskier had said too much, but he needed to hurry after Geralt. It wouldn’t work if he didn’t come back with the Witcher, after all. The Witcher’s strides were long and quick as he made his way to Roach. He was just in a hurry to get away from the situation, get back to his horse, Jaskier told himself. It wasn’t because he didn’t want Jaskier’s company.

Oh, who was he kidding? No one ever wanted to keep Jaskier around.

But, curiously, Geralt kept the horse’s gait slow enough that Jaskier could mostly keep up. So... maybe that was something.

* * *

It wasn’t something, unfortunately. They parted ways not long after that, Geralt taking off in the middle of the night and leaving Jaskier all alone at an inn a few towns over. Jaskier had waited a day, asked around if maybe he had found a contract, but there wasn’t a single word about the Witcher. He had simply just... disappeared.

Fine. Whatever. Jaskier’s feelings weren’t hurt at all. It was just heartburn that made his chest ache.

Besides, he needed to make his way to Oxenfurt. Geralt would have only slowed him down, after all.

* * *

Jaskier sat at the base of the pillar, strumming his new lute, getting familiar with her, learning how to love her like she deserved. That song had been more popular than he had anticipated, really, but he wasn’t complaining. It made him a lot of coin he was saving up. It also helped that he had gone back to teaching a class at Oxenfurt, even if they were all pretentious assholes. There was nothing he could do in regards to the history being taught—he had no power over that, and, besides, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

Not this time.

But he had been waiting every evening at the pillar for nearly a month. Surely Filavandrel would have been there by now...

And the thing with Geralt had been a complete and utter bust, unfortunately. He was too grumpy, too rigid in his ways, too unfeeling, abandoned Jaskier without a word.

Well. That was unfair. Geralt had a lot of feelings. They just usually weren’t very positive.

But Jaskier had wanted to become world-renowned. He wanted people to request for him, wanted royalty to beg for him to play at their events. He wanted their praise and their love and attention. He wanted—

A lot of things. A lot of things he couldn’t have.

A twig snapped behind him. He whirled around, clutching the lute protectively over his chest. Light was fading fast and the trees threw everything into dark shadow this early in the evening. He hoped it wasn’t a wolf—he wasn’t quite so prepared for that. There hadn’t been any sightings recently, but, well, one never knew.

From the tree line, a familiar figure emerged.

Jaskier sighed in relief. “Fila!” he shouted merrily. The elf king looked haggard and weary, swaying on his feet. Dozens of eyes shined just within the shadows. Gently, Jaskier set down his lute and rushed forward to hug the elf. “I’m so glad to see you!” he said in Elder, hoping it would soothe their weary souls, trust him a little more. “How was the trip?”

Filavandrel smiled tiredly as he pulled back, grasping Jaskier’s shoulders. “Slow going, since we had to avoid the humans. But we all made it.”

“Toruviel, too?” Jaskier asked worriedly, looking behind Filavandrel for the only other elf he knew. He could just see the odd look on Filavandrel's face—something akin to shock or awe or fond bemusement, he wasn't quite sure.

She stepped out from the shadows, looking a slight bit healthier than the last time he saw her. Jaskier heaved a sigh of relief, grinning at her in welcome. “You’re looking better, my dear.”

Toruviel looked shocked, but then her grin turned sharp. “You as well, human.”

“Toruviel,” Filavandrel said sharply, merely turning his head to admonish her. She didn’t look as cowed as she probably should have, Jaskier thought, but she was still grinning and still standing and not coughing and choking. Filavandrel turned back to Jaskier, eyes soft as he trailed his hands down to clasp at Jaskier’s. “You waited,” he said, sounding awed.

“Of course I did.” Jaskier squeezed his hands, giving him a gentle smile. “And I’ve been working, saving up coin, preparing—”

“You didn’t need to—”

“I wanted to.” Jaskier squeezed his hands again and tugged him further into the clearing. “It’s a nice enough night. You should rest. It’s at least another two days before we’ll get to my fortress.”

Seemingly reluctantly, Filavandrel let go of one of his hands to turn back to his people. Curiously, he kept one hand clasped with Jaskier’s. With his free hand he motioned towards the clearing. “Come,” he said, voice loud and commanding. “We’re safe, here. We’ll rest before finishing our journey.”

From the forest, dozens of elves emerged. Torque was the only non-elf besides Jaskier. Each elf looked ragged, unsure, dubious of his intentions. But Filavandrel just encouraged them to join them in the clearing so they could set up a temporary camp. Those who were the most rundown were gathered together so those stronger could care for them. There were even small children, babies, clutching at their mothers’ clothing.

Jaskier didn’t get a good count, but it had to have been less than fifty.

His fortress would hold them all.

Fortunately, many were still in good enough shape that they could help with the labor that needed to be done. There was no way he could contract with humans in the city—not if he wanted to keep the elves safe. _No one_ could know he was planning to occupy it with people. Not if he wanted to keep them safe.

Jaskier helped them get settled, offering to cook some stew if two of the men went and hunted a deer. While he waited for them to come back, he pulled out the large cooking pot and started to boil the water. Herbs were easy enough to find to give it some flavor, and he dipped into their carrot and potato stash and started peeling and cutting while he waited. It didn’t take the men long to come back with a small deer, and it didn’t take them any time at all to have it skinned and cut up for the stew. What they didn’t use for the stew they smoked to be used for tomorrow.

Though the elves were wary, they still came up to Jaskier and held out their bowls as he gave each of them a generous portion. Curiously, Filavandrel refused to go first, instead standing next to Jaskier and counting heads as they passed, greeting each elf by name and wishing them well.

Jaskier’s heart stuttered in his throat.

No. Bad, Jaskier, he thought, gulping and tearing his gaze away. The firelight made Filavandrel look even more exquisite than the last time they had met. Jaskier really needed to control his urges.

Besides—an elf king would never go for a human bard, no matter how much he wished it.

“Thank you, Jaskier,” Filavandrel murmured as the last elf was served. The moon hung heavy and bright above them. The blue light of the moon and the yellow light of the fire contrasted beautifully on Filavandrel’s skin, hiding his weariness. “Truly. You’ve been very helpful.”

Jaskier fumbled with the last bowl, hands trembling as he tried to scoop up some of the stew. He handed it over to Filavandrel who took it with wide eyes before he spoke. “It’s the least I can do, since I can’t change the humans.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I can’t—change humans,” he said regretfully, looking away so he wouldn’t have to look at the disappointment from Filavandrel. “There’s only so much my music can do, and I can’t just go around saying the history books are wrong—”

A rough hand touched his cheek, startling him. He looked up to see Filavandrel smiling softly at him. “You’re doing enough.”

Damn it. He could feel his face heating up. Bad, Jaskier! He coughed, trying to hide his warm cheeks by turning away. There was just enough stew for some to have seconds, if they wanted—

“You aren’t going to eat?” Filavandrel asked. Was that—concern in his voice?

“You sure have changed, since the first we met,” Jaskier joked. “Last time, you wanted to kill me!”

Filavandrel frowned, looking a little lost and a little silly with his bowl clutched in his hands. “What happened to you, Jaskier? Where’s the Witcher?”

Ouch. Right where it hurt the most. Jaskier tried to breathe around the ache in his chest as he smiled. “Nothing,” he replied lightly. “He left me, like everyone does.”

Frowning harder, Filavandrel shifted the bowl to one hand so he could reach out. But he paused, as if unsure, and lowered his hand again. “I don’t understand why,” he admitted. “You’re a very nice person to be around.”

“Heh.” Jaskier stepped away, trying to calm his racing heart. “You’d be the first to think so.” He picked up the lute from where he had safely stored it back by the pillar. Turning, he shouted at the group, “Who wants some music!”

A tired cheer rang out. Jaskier strummed the lute and played lighthearted, fun songs, making sure to stay well away from _that song_.

He could see Filavandrel watching him, enraptured, sipping and chewing on his stew well past the point it had probably gone cold. Jaskier tried his best to ignore the curious gaze so he could put on a performance for this band of tired elves. He owed them that much, at least, for uprooting them and forcing them—

No. He hadn’t forced anything. It was Filavandrel’s choice if he came or not, if he brought his people to start somewhere anew. It was a good thing and not a selfish thing, not because he had suspected that Geralt would leave him like the useless bard he was and Filavandrel had shown interest instead. It was good, because he was helping people survive, even if they would be stuck in a crumbling fortress—

“Jaskier,” called Filavandrel.

Oh. When had he stopped?

“Nothing,” he replied to the question that hadn’t been asked. Fuck. “I need to leave,” he said hurriedly, trying to find the case he had bought for the lute and resolutely ignoring the concerned gazes turned his way. “I have to teach a class in the morning, and then a wedding in the afternoon—”

“Stop.”

The voice was commanding, and Jaskier found he didn’t want to disobey. He winced, turning back to the elf king.

“Your Highness?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just—thoughts.” He swallowed bitterly, itching to get away. He couldn’t talk to a _king_ about his problems, his low self-esteem, his doubts. “I’ll come tomorrow night after my performance and check on you. We’ll head to the fortress the day after.”

“Jaskier—”

But Jaskier was already walking as fast as he could into the forest, knowing the path well enough that he didn’t need light to guide him.


	2. The Arrival

When he went back to the clearing the next evening, he was riding a horse and pulling another behind him by a long lead. The second horse was pulling a cart filled with supplies he hoped the elves wouldn’t turn away. They cost a hefty amount of coin, after all, and he didn’t have any other use for them.

Daffodil and the other unnamed horse were good deals, Jaskier thought. A friend had been trying to sell them and, because he knew Jaskier, his coin purse wasn’t nearly as empty as he had been expecting. He had bought the horses as soon as he had gotten back to Oxenfurt—the cart and supplies, however, he had gathered over the month. Seeds, cloth, sewing supplies, and anything else he thought he would need to help the elves. The fortress didn’t have a single thing, after all.

Daffodil, he would keep. It would cut his travel time between the fortress and Oxenfurt by over half, and if he decided to keep traveling, he would be able to make it back easier and quicker.

The other horse he planned to give to Filavandrel.

He wasn’t quite sure why his heart beat heavily in his throat at the thought of giving the elf king such a gift. The mare was similar in color to Daffodil—a sort of cream color but with a dark mane and tail instead of white mane and tail. There really wasn’t a reason for him to be so nervous. Hopefully, Filavandrel wouldn’t turn the gift away. He didn’t want to sell her, after all. Not after just buying her.

The elves were just settling in on their evening meal when Jaskier arrived. One of the younger elves shouted in surprise, bringing the entire clearing to a dead silence. Several of the men rushed forward with swords, startling the horses.

“Whoa!” Jaskier held up a hand, trying to soothe Daffodil with the other. “It’s just me!”

“Jaskier?” Filavandrel came up from behind the other men. He lowered his sword as he neared, tilting his head just slightly. “Where did you get the horses? And the cart?” He narrowed his eyes and added in a growl, “Those better not be for us.”

Hurriedly, Jaskier dismounted and tried to give him his most charming grin. “Of course it’s all for you! Well, besides Daffodil, here. She’s mine.” His heart quickened in his throat, nearly choking him. “The other horse is a gift—for you, Your Highness.”

Filavandrel’s glare hardened. “Why are you giving me a gift?”

Uh, what? Jaskier wasn’t quite sure how to reply to _that_. Fuck. He should have known Filavandrel would have demanded an answer. “Because I wanted to?” Jaskier asked slowly. Before Filavandrel could retort—probably something scathing—Jaskier pushed further into the clearing, guiding the two horses and the cart. “Now, then! We’ll pack up at first light. I only have a week off so we’ll have to be quick!”

And getting that time off had been _difficult_. The school had been a little too curious about _why_ he wanted off, but he claimed needing to check on his property due to a suspicious letter he had received. Fortunately, they let him go without much grumbling, and he left his students with busy work and preparing for an exam for when he came back.

Behind him, Filavandrel grumbled but followed and helped him set the horses up for the night.

“I got you some supplies,” Jaskier babbled as they worked. “To get you started, at least. If you really want, you can pay me back later for it.” He couldn’t help how his eyes darted over to the elf king, quickly taking in his figure. Even though he was hidden behind scraps and had been starving for who knew how long, Jaskier was sure he was—

No. _No_. Bad. He would _not_ take advantage of the elf king.

Filavandrel looked up just in time to catch Jaskier’s blush. _Great_. Jaskier cleared his throat and continued. “It’s just that—I have money I’m not using. I keep it at the fortress, of course, and come back when I run too low on what I make traveling. I just—I want it to be put to good use.”

Filavandrel was just—staring at him, making Jaskier twitchy. He shifted nervously from foot to foot as the elf king continued to stare at him with his suspicious, heated grey eyes. “Why are you doing this?” Filavandrel finally asked.

“Why not?” Jaskier replied even quieter. “Like I said,” he continued, moving away to unhitch the other horse from the cart. “I can’t do much to change humans, but I can at least help you thrive a little.”

“But why?” Filavandrel demanded. “That’s what I don’t understand. Why are you helping us elves?” He spat it out, as if disgusted by the entire thing.

Jaskier turned back, trying to hide his offense. “You think and breathe and love just as I, do you not?” he asked, stepping forward but careful to keep from reaching out. Filavandrel looked entirely too much like he would skewer Jaskier if he even _breathed_ wrong. “It was wrong, what the humans did to you,” he whispered, bowing his head to hide his tears. He always got a little too emotional, sometimes. He hated it, but he couldn’t help it. He wiped away the tears, trying to swallow down the heat behind his eyes. It did little good. “I want to help.”

“What do you want?” Filavandrel demanded. “What do you hope to gain from helping us? You want a wife, hmm?” he mocked.

“Damn it, Filavandrel!” Jaskier couldn’t hold back his irritation anymore. The clearing became silent at his harsh yell. “I can’t bring back your dead, or your land, but I’ll do my best to keep the rest of you from dying! I don’t _want_ anything from you except for you to fucking _live_.” Filavandrel flinched in front of him. Jaskier lowered his voice, throat raw, to whisper, “I just want to do something good in my gods-forsaken life. Just once, I want to help someone for the better.”

The clearing was silent except for his harsh breaths. Why couldn’t the stupid elf see that he was doing this from the goodness of his heart? That he didn’t want anything any return? Jaskier wasn’t using the land. He wasn’t using the money. Why let it gather dust and go to waste when someone else _needed_ it?

“You’re very strange, for a human,” Filavandrel finally said after a much too long silence.

“I get that a lot,” Jaskier grumbled, turning back to soothe the horses. He apologized to them for yelling and scaring them. Daffodil brushed her nose against his chest. He hoped it meant she forgave him.

Filavandrel moved closer to help take off the other horse’s equipment. Quietly, he said, “I know humans age much quicker than elves.” Okay, weird non-sequitur, but Jaskier could roll with it. “But you appear very young.”

“I’m eighteen.” Filavandrel made a confused, almost horrified noise beside him. He turned to see him looking very pale and ready to throw up. Why would Filavandrel react like that, anyway? Was that still a toddler in elf years? “I’m an adult, in human years,” he added quickly. “Have been, for a while, I suppose. I’m not a child.”

Movingly slowly, Filavandrel moved back to taking care of his new horse. “That’s just... so young.”

Jaskier shrugged. “If I’m lucky, that’s about a third of my life. A fourth if I’m really lucky.”

“Already?”

“We only live about sixty to eighty years if we’re _really_ lucky.”

“That’s...”

“Horribly depressing, I know.” Jaskier bumped him with his shoulder, sending him a small smile when Filavandrel looked up. At least he looked less sickly. “That’s why I create music, why I travel. I love all the beauty in the world and I want to share it, since life is unfortunately very short.”

The elf king didn’t say anything else to that. Once the horses were ready for the night, Filavandrel led him towards the fire where the last of the elves were being served dinner. “Join me?” he asked, holding out a bowl filled with the leftover deer meat and some bread from the night before.

He... wanted to eat with Jaskier? Jaskier frowned, confused. He was just a lowly human. Besides—he couldn’t take food from them. They needed everything they could. “I—I ate already,” he lied with as bright a grin, hoping that Filavandrel would let him be.

No such luck. The elf king glared at him, pushing the bowl closer. “Eat.”

“I shouldn’t—”

“ _Eat_.”

Oh, boy. Filavandrel didn’t know that his commanding tone _did_ things to him, did he? Made him want to obey, to please—

Jaskier gulped as he took the bowl. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Don’t thank me,” he grumbled, getting his own bowl as he scanned the clearing. “I should be thanking _you_. There’s nothing in the world I could give you to repay you.”

“I don’t want thanks,” Jaskier replied as they moved towards the tree line. He sat next to Filavandrel, their shoulders brushing against each other as they sat against the tree. “I just want to help.”

From a distance, Jaskier could see Toruviel and Torque watching them without shame. They were openly staring as they chewed on their food, murmuring to each other and not even bothering to look away or look ashamed when they were caught.

Weird...

“Still,” Filavandrel said quietly, keeping his gaze on his bowl. “Thank you. Truly. I don’t know what might have happened to us if you hadn’t offered to help.”

Jaskier didn’t want to think about that.

“I bought you some supplies to get you started,” he said instead, tapping his boot against Filavandrel’s. Jaskier giggled when the elf king looked at him in bemusement, as if unsure if he should be offended or not. “Seeds, cloth, things like that. I didn’t know what else you had so I figured I could wait until you could come to Oxenfurt with me.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“It wouldn’t be hard to hide your ears,” Jaskier replied, reaching up to touch the pointed tips. Filavandrel closed his eyes and breathed shakily at the contact. Jaskier snatched his hand away, mortification rippling through his chest. Shit. Fucking shit. Why did he _do_ that? Sure, he flirted his way into anyone's bed, but he couldn't just do that to a _king_! Especially not an _elf_ king! “J-Just need a hat. Perhaps you could accompany me when I return and I can show you around Oxenfurt and you can get what you need? Wait, I already said that—”

“I think I’d like that.”

Abort. Abort!

Laughing nervously, Jaskier bit into his meat to keep from saying anything more embarrassing. Gods above! There he went—just embarrassing himself all over the place. Just because Filavandrel was cute and took amazing care of his people didn’t mean he needed to become a love-struck mess—

Oh, no. Oh, dear.

Jaskier finished his food quickly, nearly choking before springing up. “Well, better get to cleaning up!” he said a little too loud. Perhaps a little too telling, if the confused little smile on Toruviel’s face was anything to go by. “We need to get up bright and early so we can get there in a timely manner.”

Fortunately, Filavandrel just let him go with a funny little smile.

Jaskier wasn’t about to fool himself into believing it was fondness he saw.

* * *

Just as Jaskier requested, everyone was up and about by dawn. Well, probably because Toruviel went around camp banging some pots together, yelling at everyone to get up so they could get a move on. Thankfully, everyone had still been mostly packed and all that needed packing up were the bedrolls.

As Jaskier was hitching up the horses to the cart, Filavandrel came over to help. They worked in silence, letting the sound of the others gathering their things and preparing for the day wash over them. With Filavandrel, Jaskier found he didn’t need to try to fill the silence. It was nice, calm, unnecessary to speak when Filavandrel looked at him with gentle smiles and brushed his fingers over Jaskier’s.

_What was going on?_

“The slowest,” Jaskier managed to choke out. Should he move his fingers? Reach back? Gods, how he wanted to kiss him. _No_. **_Bad_** , Jaskier! “They can ride in the cart. There’s plenty of room and we would get there quicker. The sickly and the elderly and the young."

And why did Filavandrel keep _looking_ at him like that? Like, like he was _fond_ of Jaskier? Nobody was _fond_ of him—everyone thought he was too annoying. That he talked too much, was too loud, didn’t know when to quit. But that damned elf king kept _looking_ at him in that awed sort of way, like he was surprised, but happy, too.

It wasn’t fair.

Minutes later they were on their way. Jaskier led in the cart, babbling away about stories and such for the younger children who giggled and asked for more. He sang and he told stories and ignored the way Filavandrel walked at his side, looking up at him every once in a while. The heavier items were in the cart, which would make the trip even quicker since they wouldn’t be slowed down. As it were, they were over halfway there by the time the sun started setting and they decided to set up camp.

Filavandrel stuck by his side the entire time.

It was—odd. No one was ever willingly next to him for this long.

He wanted to ask, but he also didn’t want to jolt the elf king out of whatever was making him like Jaskier.

They made it to the fortress just after noon the next day. All morning, Jaskier spoke to Filavandrel on everything that needed fixed, from the roof of the small castle—it could hardly be called a castle, really—to restoring the beds to cleaning the large wells to fixing the steps down to the cove and so many things. The grass was tall, of course, since there hadn’t been any animals to keep it maintained. The stables were in good enough condition, though they would need to replace some of the doors. There was a temple, too, that would need to be fixed up—part of the roof had caved in. They could convert it into housing for the time being, he told him, or even into a small medical building. The store rooms would definitely need to be cleaned out, of course.

“Quite a bit of the land outside of the fortress belongs to me, too,” he had added, squinting through the trees. “We should be coming across a small wall that runs through the forest marking the property.” Which they had come across not long after that and he had pointed it out. It wasn’t a very tall wall—not even to his groin—but there were tall pillars on each side of the path as a “gate” into the property.

Finally, they came out of the forest to see the fortress.

The walls were high enough that no one could see in and there weren’t many places around tall enough to see over the walls. Not unless people were suddenly apt to climbing trees and sitting in the tallest branches like birds, but, well, then that would be a different problem entirely. The fortress itself sat on an almost-island with the walls closest to the mainland built right on the edge of the cliff, and the only way into the fortress was through a narrow opening just barely big enough for two carts. The gate keep was two floors tall, looking weatherworn and sad. It was closed fast, but the best part was the small hidden door that Jaskier had a key for.

He quickly opened it, hurrying through to close it and unbolt the larger door. It creaked and groaned and protested as he pushed it open.

The elves were appropriately awed as they walked through the gate and around the corner and into the large open field. The stables to their right were the first they could see, then the open field with grass up to Jaskier’s waist. The castle was clear at the back left edge of the fortress. It was only two floors tall, with only two visible wings. The third wing jutted out towards the edge of the land, back on the other side, which held the library on the first floor and the royalty’s bedchamber on the second. The manmade walls stopped about two-thirds of the way towards the back of the land where it met the natural slope of the land. His ancestors had been ambitious, wanting to build more, but the stress of it made some of the cliffside crumble and they had abandoned it altogether.

Well. It was Jaskier's, and he was glad for that.

“Well, then,” said Jaskier, urging the horses towards the castle. “Let’s get to work.”

Filavandrel motioned for his people to follow on the dirt path. Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully they would like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm kind of basing Jaskier's fortress on the Dunnottar Castle in Scotland. Sort of lol


	3. Oxenfurt

Their first order of business had been to clean out the ground floor of the castle. It held the kitchen, store room, dining hall, library, and ballroom, so it was the most important to clean up so they could eat and have a place to rest out of the elements. It would be a tight fit, but there were less than fifty people and they could make it work. A few of the others worked on cleaning out the temple for the sickly to rest in peace while the others worked.

While the elves and Torque worked, Jaskier showed Filavandrel around the place. He left off his doublet, staying in just his undershirt since it would be hard work and he didn’t want to ruin the nice clothing. His pants, too, were old and worn, surely not suitable for someone of his stature but he didn’t much care. The fortress was quite large, even if the buildings weren’t nearly as extravagant. His ancestors had been ambitious, sure, and had wanted to build more, but the crumbling cliffs had frightened them and they had abandoned the place. The structures themselves were solid and there was no threat to them falling into the sea below, but, well. No matter.

“You can plant here,” Jaskier said, standing just a few steps south of the castle. “There’s plenty of time left in the season to get something growing for the winter. And we can get you a cow and a goat and a sheep to start off with for milk and cheese and wool. And maybe some chickens for eggs. There’s plenty of deer to hunt in the forest and the fishing should be alright.”

“I don’t think we know how to fish,” Filavandrel replied humorously. “We lived in the mountains, after all.”

“So you’ll learn.” Jaskier rolled his eyes in exasperation, nudging the elf king with his shoulder when he started laughing. “There’s a sort of bathing room, just under the kitchen, and I’ll show you how it works later. But come! I’ll show you how to get to the cove.”

There was a set of stairs underneath a stand-alone archway with a creaky pully system at the top. The rope was long gone and the stairs needed a little care, but Jaskier carefully led Filavandrel down the spiral staircase. The middle gaped widely for a large bucket of fish to be pulled to the surface. At the bottom was a broken bucket and a length of fraying rope. Jaskier babbled about the system, about how the fortress relied a lot on fish since it was the easiest sort of meat to obtain. The exit had been hand carved, too, and wasn’t crumbling like the rest of the place.

They stepped out onto the beach. Filavandrel gasped beside him, hesitantly stepping back when the waves nearly touched their feet. The cliff behind them stood tall and foreboding, the fortress feeling eons away. The staircase was the only way to get to the large cove, unless they suddenly developed a knack for climbing cliffs with little in the way of footholds. 

“I’m assuming you don’t know how to swim, then?” Jaskier teased.

“Mountains don’t have places to swim, usually.”

“I’ll teach you all,” Jaskier replied brightly. It was one way to get Filavandrel out of his clothing—

No! Bad, Jaskier!

But Filavandrel gave him a wary look anyway. Could he read his thoughts? Surely not. Hopefully he didn’t think Jaskier would try to drown him, did he?

Jaskier swallowed down the hurt at that. No, there was no reason for Filavandrel to think that way, after all.

Pretending everything was alright, Jaskier hurried back up the steps and stared over the land of the fortress with his hands on his hips, wishing the wind would pick up a little more to make his hair sway dramatically in the breeze. No such luck. But Filavandrel was beside him again, knocking his elbow into Jaskier’s with a gentle smile.

Above them, the sky was clear and blue and the sun shined warmly on their skin. Sea salt tickled his nose and the wind playfully tugged at the ends of his hair. Jaskier turned, just enough, to see Filavandrel with his face turned upwards, eyes closed, wavy blond locks gently swaying in the breeze, away from his face. His lips were curled up in a small smile, face relaxed for the first time since Jaskier had met him.

Beautiful. Simply— _beautiful_. Stanzas and chords ran through his head at the sight. He would have to keep the fact that he was an elf king a secret—the public didn’t quite like them enough to be enamored with a love story between an elf and a human—but... Jaskier couldn’t _not_ write a little love song for him. Just a little one. It would be _fine_.

He just couldn’t let Filavandrel ever hear it.

* * *

A few days later, Filavandrel left Toruviel in charge as Jaskier led him towards Oxenfurt. The cart had been hooked up to Filavandrel’s mare, who was still nameless. When pressed, Filavandrel insisted that she would tell him her name in time.

Jaskier thought he was short of a marble, but to each his own, he supposed.

Upon Filavandrel’s head was a simple green hat that Jaskier had sewn up to hide his ears. It would do, for now, at least. They made their way in silence for quite a ways, since Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure what to say. The plan was for Filavandrel to stay in Oxenfurt with Jaskier for a few days to become familiar with the area and see if anyone would teach him to fish. He would also look for anyone willing to sell him some farm animals for a reasonable price. It was still with Jaskier’s money, but Filavandrel grumbled less about using it when Jaskier insisted it wasn’t being put to use anyway except for his fancy clothing.

“You said,” Filavandrel said suddenly, cutting into the afternoon silence, “earlier, that you wouldn’t be coming back with me.”

When he didn’t continue, Jaskier turned to give him a wry grin. Filavandrel looked mildly upset, which twisted something in Jaskier’s chest. “I have to teach,” he replied, hating how sad he sounded. He _loved_ teaching—truly. His students were bright and ambitious and willing—but he would miss Filavandrel, too. And the others, of course. But the thought of watching him ride back to the fortress filled him with longing and melancholy. “I was lucky to get a week off to guide you and help you for a few days. We’ll get a two week break for the harvest, but...”

“You’ll have to stay in Oxenfurt until then.”

“Yeah...” Jaskier wondered at the sadness hiding in Filavandrel’s voice. He looked disappointed, almost. What would he have to be sad about? He wanted to ask, but wasn’t sure if it would be overstepping... “Your Highness,” he said quietly, voice almost lost under the hooves and creaking wheels. “You sound... disappointed.”

Filavandrel frowned at him, adjusting the reigns in his hands as he shifted on the bench. “Well, yes. Why wouldn’t I? You’re pleasant company, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s breath hitched and his heart stuttered in his throat. Voice raspy, throat thick with emotion, he turned away and said, “You’re the only one to think so.”

“You’ve said that before,” Filavandrel muttered, sounding confused. Jaskier turned back to see the frown had deepened. “Why do you say that?”

Jaskier shrugged. “It’s true.” He didn’t know what else to say to that, or how to explain it. Even his own _family_ complained about his company. Any friends he had were due to his money or because of the sex—and even those relationships didn’t last long, either. He was only eighteen, sure, nearly nineteen, but... He knew he wasn’t good company. Not with eighteen years of evidence.

“May I ask you a question?” Filavandrel was still quiet, curious.

“Ask away!” Hopefully it wouldn’t be about _that_ topic.

“You called me Fila, before. Back when we met again. But now you only call me “Your Highness” or my name. Why?”

Fuck. Jaskier would rather be asked about his low self-esteem. “Well,” he said slowly, trying to find his words. Why did Filavandrel make them so hard to find sometimes? “I—was excited to see you. And—And I know you deserve respect, and I’m trying to be respectful—”

“You don’t have to call me “Your Highness,” you know,” Filavandrel interrupted softly. Jaskier flinched, but Filavandrel continued with, “You can call me Fila, if you’d like.”

“But that’s too—”

“Too what?” Filavandrel turned his head away, but Jaskier had seen the smirk before he could hide it. “I said you can call me it. Now stop fretting and tell me why you think you’re not pleasant company when I _greatly_ enjoy your presence.”

Fuck.

Wait.

Was that supposed to mean something else? Jaskier squinted at Filavandrel, who only turned just enough to smile slyly at him, eyes shining with mischief. It probably meant something else, but Jaskier wasn’t quite sure what. Was it sarcasm? Did he actually hate Jaskier?

“Stop.”

Jaskier pulled up short at the command. Damn it. Filavandrel stopped his horse and stood, hands on his hips, as he studied Jaskier. Like this, he was much taller and Jaskier had to look up at him. Jaskier felt tiny under his gaze but found he couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Filavandrel continued to just—look at him, as if he could find his answers in his eyes or something rubbish and romantic like that.

“Speak.”

Jaskier breathed deeply, wondering where to start. “My parents gave me that rundown fortress because they had to give me something or people would talk,” he started. “I can’t keep any friends. No one in my family _talks_ to me because I’m a nuisance and an embarrassment. I only have a position at the Academy because I annoyed my way in and, begrudgingly, they think I’m a good bard. I can’t keep any lover more than a month or two before they call me tiring and leave. I know I’m not pleasant company. I’ve been told my _entire life_ that I’m not— _welcome_.” He choked on the last word, felt his eyes grow hot and watery, but kept the tears from falling by blinking quickly.

Grunting, Filavandrel stepped precariously close, toes hanging over the edge as he leaned forward as close as he could. “And I find you quite pleasant,” he said, eyes hard and determined. “You’re kind, attentive. You have a beautiful voice and you play my lute like you were born with it in your hand. You learned you were wrong about your perceptions of us and you changed instead of stubbornly clinging to what you knew. You selflessly take care of my people, as if you’re one of us.” Filavandrel leaned so far forward that he had to grasp Jaskier’s knee to keep balanced as he drew right into his face. Admittedly, Jaskier made a sound he was not proud of. “I welcome your presence. Every day, from now ‘til death. I would _never_ tire of you, Jaskier.”

Shakily, Jaskier replied, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Gently, Filavandrel wiped away the tears sliding down his cheek. “I would never.”

His breath hitched as Filavandrel moved closer, as he tilted his head just slightly, as if he were going to kiss Jaskier. But then he drew away, pushing against Jaskier’s knee to stand fully and look down at Jaskier again. Then, he sat, taking up the reigns again and moving his horse forward once again.

Jaskier urged Daffodil to follow, willing his breathing and heartrate to slow.

Filavandrel was going to be the death of him. Especially when he insisted that night to sleep in the cart, pushing their bedrolls together to conserve heat. It wasn’t particularly cool out, but, well, Jaskier found he couldn’t say no as he curled, back-to-back, against the elf king.

* * *

Oxenfurt was just as bustling as when he had left. The people paid them no mind, but Filavandrel still hunched in his seat, trying to go unnoticed. The Academy had a stable and shed that they could keep their horses and the cart in, and Jaskier spent the rest of the afternoon showing Filavandrel around the place. At the market they bought fresh fruit and some bread and cheese to share as they ate at the wall overlooking the sea.

“I like our place, better,” Filavandrel muttered as he tore off some bread. He carefully kept from Elder, not wanting to draw attention to them. There was no reason for two people to just randomly be speaking it, after all. “It’s quieter.”

“I suppose so, yeah.” _Our_ place, Filavandrel had said. It made Jaskier want to cuddle close, kiss him—No. He had to refrain. He popped a chunk of the cheese into his mouth, chewing carefully as he thought on his next words. “You can either stay in my room while I teach, or you could join me. I only have one class in the morning tomorrow and they’re just taking an exam. It’ll be boring. Or, if you’re feeling brave, you can travel around, familiarize yourself.”

Filavandrel didn’t look too enthusiastic about that. “I’ll just stay in your room.” He turned a smirk up at Jaskier. “Go through your things, see what secrets you keep.”

Jaskier laughed. “Good luck.”

That night, they shared his bed—just barely big enough for the two of them. The only position they found that worked without either of them threatening to fall off was curled around each other.

Jaskier’s heart felt a little too full with the way Filavandrel’s arm wrapped around him. It took him ages to fall asleep, but it was nice, hearing Filavandrel’s breath, feeling it on the back of his neck, feeling his warmth against his back.

_Fuck._

* * *

The week alone with Filavandrel was nice. Slowly, they started gathering other things they would need—a spindle for the wool, extra cooking ware, a new bucket for fishing, nets, a butter churner, tools for fixing the roofs and eventually building new houses. On the second full day in Oxenfurt, Filavandrel found a man who was willing to teach him how to fish. He came back looking very proud of himself asked Jaskier to teach him how to cook one of the fish he caught.

It was really adorable, how attentive the elf king was to Jaskier’s lesson. He stood a little too close, watched him even closer.

And every day they just—grew closer together. It baffled Jaskier, the way the elf king kept asking questions, trying to get to know him, smiling and nodding and listening attentively when Jaskier talked a little too much. Filavandrel’s smile only grew brighter and brighter every day when Jaskier returned from class so they could go explore the market and the town again.

It was a shock when Jaskier realized they had been back at Oxenfurt for five days already. He felt bad for keeping Filavandrel from returning to his people—who were counting on him to bring back supplies. But—But Filavandrel looked just as disappointed when Jaskier pointed out he needed to leave and return back to his people.

As they readied for the day, Filavandrel asked, quiet and unsure, “When can you come back? To the fortress?”

“Two months,” Jaskier replied after checking his calendar. The Academy took off two weeks for the harvest—so students could help on the farms and to prepare for the festival. “I’ll have two weeks before I have to come back for the fall classes.”

“Oh.” Filavandrel shifted on his feet, fidgeting with the hat in his hands as he looked anywhere but at Jaskier. “Perhaps I can come visit in a few weeks? When we need more supplies?”

Oh. Jaskier couldn’t help the gentle smile as he stepped up to Filavandrel. He brushed some of the blond locks away from his eyes, smile widening when the grey eyes finally locked onto his. Gods above how he wanted to kiss the elf king breathless, hold tight and never let him go. “I’d like that very much.”

Filavandrel grinned, eyes shining with mirth. His voice was quiet, just for Jaskier, when he said, “Well, I suppose we better go see if we can get those animals.”

They found two goats, two sheep, a dairy cow, and several chickens for a fairly reasonable price. Or so Jaskier hoped. He wasn’t as knowledgeable on farm animals, but they seemed healthy and hopefully the goats and sheep would produce offspring for them. They were smelly, of course, and he was glad he didn’t have to travel for two days with them. Somehow, Filavandrel sorted it out so the larger animals were attached to the cart to follow and the smaller ones were in their cages in the cart with the rest of the supplies.

And then they couldn’t hold it off any longer.

It was just after noon and Jaskier had just handed off some fruits and cheese and bread for Filavandrel to eat on the trip back. They were just outside the gate, off to one side so others could come and go. Jaskier couldn’t help biting his lip, trying to find adequate parting words.

“Oh, come here.” Filavandrel leaned down and grasped his doublet to haul him up so he could press a kiss to his lips. Jaskier scrambled for purchase, one foot finally finding the step, hands gripping the cart with all his strength. Stunned, Jaskier hardly had a chance to respond before Filavandrel shoved him away with a sly grin. “See you next time, Jask.” He urged the horse forward, slow enough that the animals behind the cart weren’t too startled.

Jaskier just didn’t expect the hole in his chest to be quite so deep as he watched Filavandrel ride away.


	4. The Visit

Jaskier thought about that damn kiss every single day that Filavandrel was gone.

Seriously! Why did he have to—to go and do that! Didn’t he know that it was just plain _rude_ to kiss and then leave immediately after? Jaskier was going to give him a piece of his mind when he returned.

... _If_ he returned.

The longer Filavandrel was gone, the more Jaskier fretted. He couldn’t leave the Academy—not for at least another month during the break—and he had to remind himself over and over that Filavandrel had people he had to care for, that he was their king and couldn’t just leave whenever he wanted.

He hated it, but he just had to learn to live with it.

And then he nearly passed a familiar face.

It wasn’t Filavandrel, unfortunately. But he almost didn’t recognize Toruviel with her hair down. It was long, nearly down to her waist, and the red waves hid her ears without the help of a hat. She grinned when Jaskier stopped in the middle of the hall to stare at her. His students who lingered watched them with open curiosity.

“What are you doing here, Tor?” he asked, thought better of it, then asked, “How did you find me?”

“Wasn’t hard,” she replied with a grin, pushing off the opposite wall to link her arm in his. “Filavandrel was quite thorough with his directions.”

“Where is he, anyway?” he asked, trying to hide his disappointment. He started leading them towards his room where they could speak privately. “Back with the others?” With being out in public like this, they had to remain as vague as possible. As it were, his students were already whispering. _Great_.

Toruviel’s grin turned almost feral. He hated that grin. It always meant she was about to tease him horribly. “Oh, he wanted to come. I convinced him that more than just he needed to know the area.”

“Oh...”

“I also needed to speak with you.”

“Of course you did.”

“What did you do to my king?” she asked with a growl as soon as they were mostly alone. Her glare was poisonous and Jaskier wanted to run away, but her hand was clamped painfully tight on his arm. “He comes back, head in the clouds, smiling like a _fool_. Smitten, he were. For _you_. And he’s always off—daydreaming!”

“ _Me_?” Jaskier yelped, quieting when heads turned their way. “ _He_ kissed _me_!”

Toruviel rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m well aware. He wouldn’t _shut up_ about it.”

“Really? I—”

“If I have to hear one more time about how sweet you are, or the adorably stunned face you made when he kissed you, I’m going to throw myself off the cliff.”

“That’s a little extreme,” Jaskier muttered. But he couldn’t help the flutter in his stomach, how light he felt. It seemed Filavandrel had been missing him just as fiercely as he had. Oh, how Jaskier yearned to be back at the fortress. But he still had to teach until next summer. He would have a month break in the winter, of course, but...

“But true.” Toruviel let up on her painful grip, face returning to neutral instead of furious. “I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

She sounded—somber, maybe. Almost disappointed. About what, Jaskier could only guess—because he, a lowly human, had helped them, or that she hadn’t been able to help them herself, or any number of things. If only she were more forthcoming, even though she never hesitated to tell him a blunt truth. Her honesty hid her true feelings, he was coming to learn.

He gently squeezed her arm between his arm and his body. “I don’t want thanks, Tor.”

She hummed, sounding like she didn’t quite believe him. He finally opened the door to his room and escorted her in. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with a flourishing gesture. “Not much, but it’s fine for now, I suppose. Have you eaten, yet?”

“No,” Toruviel grumbled. “Filavandrel wouldn’t shut up about the food you gave him, either. So you better treat me to the same.”

“Wouldn’t dream otherwise.” He set his bag on the chair to look at his students’ homework later and picked up his coin pouch. “Come, my dear,” he said with another flourish that had her grinning. “To the finest fruit stand in all of Oxenfurt!”

Toruviel only spent two and a half days in Oxenfurt, but she made sure every second of it was as irritating as possible for Jaskier. At least, that was what Jaskier got out of the visit. He showed her around, helped her pick things out, and she mercilessly teased him about Filavandrel the _entire time_. When it was time to sleep, Jaskier offered her the bed and took the settee, even though it would make much more sense with their heights to have her sleep on the settee. But, he was a gentleman, and she seemed to get too much glee out of his discomfort.

She even teased him about not wanting to share a bed with her. He had with Filavandrel, hadn’t he? Why wasn’t _she_ good enough to sleep with?

Toruviel then proceeded to cackle madly at how hot his face had flushed.

It was just as well. He liked seeing her happy and healthy. She wasn’t coughing anymore and she didn’t look nearly so pale as the first time they had met. She was also much less tense after sleeping in his bed a few nights, too.

The night before she left, Jaskier found it hard to sleep. He enjoyed her company, really. It was just... He missed Filavandrel. A lot. He didn’t toss and turn in fear of waking Toruviel, but it seemed like she knew he was awake anyway. She heaved a sigh and patted the bed.

“Come here, you great lout.”

Jaskier scrambled to do as she bid, sliding in close until they were touching and pulling the blanket up to his chin. He was almost half off the bed. She turned, facing him, and he did the same. The blue light of the full moon slipped through the curtains. It didn’t reach them, but it illuminated the room enough to see her eyes shining, brow pinched in concern. For him? It was an odd thought, but not an unwelcome one.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, settling with her hands under her head. Their knees touched.

“I’ve never wanted someone to love me before,” he admitted quietly. He was afraid that speaking too loud would... he wasn’t sure, really. Break something between them, perhaps.. “I fall in love with almost everyone, but I knew it was fleeting, wouldn’t be reciprocated. But...”

“What are your intentions with my king? Why did you help us?”

“No one deserves what you went through.” He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to go away. “And I would love him, if he would let me. I used to sleep with anyone willing, and since I met him... I couldn’t bring myself. Not when I knew him.”

Toruviel didn’t speak for a moment. A small hand touched his, and that was when he realized his nails were cutting into his palms. She pried his hand apart until she could thread her fingers between his and grasp his hand. “Like I said,” she whispered, pulling his hand closer to nuzzle her cheek against the back of it before returning it between them. She still kept hold of it, adding, “He’s completely smitten with you. He was... upset when I suggested I come instead. But he puts the needs of his people before himself. And you’ve shown that you put his people first, too. He likes that about you. He would be open to courting, make no doubt of that.”

Jaskier wasn’t quite sure what to say. Sure, the kiss surely meant that Filavandrel liked him back, but... “But I’m just a human bard.”

“A human bard with a heart of gold.” She almost sounded like she was quoting someone. There was an odd smirk gracing her lips, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Filavandrel doesn’t care that you’re a human bard, oddly enough. You’re not like... _other_ humans.”

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be insulted or pleased at that. He decided pleased and settled on a smile. “Thanks, Tor.”

She glared at him. “Now shut up and sleep.”

Jaskier laughed, but found it was much easier to fall asleep.

* * *

When it was time for her to leave, it was with a full cart of fruits and vegetables and flour and new blankets to prepare for the cold weather. The animals Filavandrel had bought last time were doing wonderful, apparently, and fishing was slow going, but a good-sized deer would feed them for a few days. But they were thriving, doing better than they had for a long, long time. They were hopeful, and a few of the couples were already with child or planning for future children.

Jaskier didn’t cry at that. He didn’t! Honest! There was just—He had allergies, okay?

The horse, apparently, had a name, but Toruviel refused to tell him. She just grinned and said it matched his horse and that it was sickeningly adorable and he would have to ask Filavandrel next time.

“Speaking of next time.” Toruviel cocked an eyebrow at him as she looked down on him from the bench of the cart. They stood just outside of the entrance to Oxenfurt to say their goodbyes. “When will you be back?”

“Why?” Jaskier smirked, leaning an elbow on the seat and grinning up at her. “Miss me already, darling?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not a chance. So Filavandrel can be prepared for your return.”

Jaskier pushed out his lips in thought. “Well, about a month, I believe?”

“Exact date, Jaskier!”

“Alright, alright!” He thought harder. The festival would start in... five weeks, was it? The final exams were the week before. “Final exams end in five weeks, give or take a day or two. I might have to stay for the first day of the festival, but I’m trying to get out of it.”

Toruviel’s grin widened. “So you can see your lover quicker?”

“Be gone with you, foul wench!”

Toruviel cackled as she urged the horse on.

... He hated to admit it, but he sort of missed her when she left.

* * *

“And remember!” Jaskier called out as his students were gathering their things. “Your exam includes an _original_ score sheet. No score sheet, no final grade. If you absolutely have to change your exam time, please let me know as soon as possible so we can get a new time set. Good luck!”

The students grumbled and groaned but he skillfully ignored them. Just one more week, and he could leave back for the fortress. Luckily, he had been able to get out of the first night of festivities. He wasn’t _needed_ , but they were still sad to know he had other plans.

A shock of blond hair and mischievous grey eyes greeted him as he exited the classroom.

_“Fila!”_

Jaskier bound forward, dropping his bag to wrap the elf king in a crushing hug. Filavandrel laughed as he gripped tightly onto Jaskier, holding him close. Jaskier heard him breathe deeply into his neck and felt the chaste kiss he placed just above his pulse point, all of it sending shivers up his spine. Oh, gods, how Jaskier wanted to reciprocate. But his students were whispering enough as it were.

“Jaskier,” Filavandrel breathed, smiling so happily when he pulled away that Jaskier just wanted to—ravish him right then and there. But they were still in the Academy hallway and students were watching. “I missed you.”

_Oh._

He had sort of thought that Toruviel had been joking. Just teasing him because she, somehow, knew how in love with Filavandrel he was already. It wasn’t his fault he loved too easily! And he hadn’t taken a _single_ lover since he had met Filavandrel, either! He was touch starved—skin begging for contact, aching for some sort of intimacy and sex and whatever else Filavandrel would give him.

“Come,” he said, tugging at Filavandrel’s hand. He scooped down to gather his abandoned bag.

Hurrying as fast as he could without running, they quickly made it to his room. He slammed the door shut behind them and dropped the bag, locked the door, and pushed Filavandrel up against it.

Filavandrel smirked, resting his head against the wall, tilting it back just enough that he could look down his nose at Jaskier.

Oh, no. Jaskier was in _trouble_.

“Quite the greeting, my dear,” he said, voice husky, filled with desire.

Oh, how Jaskier just wanted to _ravish_ him. Wanted to press him hard against the wall, open his mouth with his, run his fingers through his hair, under his shirt, into his pants. He wanted to pull his clothing off, piece by piece, kiss every bit of skin he could reach, sink to his knees, put his mouth on Filavandrel, make him feel _good_.

He settled on leaning closer, tilting his head just slightly so his nose brushed against Filavandrel’s cheek. His lips brushed Filavandrel’s as he murmured, “Tell me you don’t want this.”

“Then I’d be a liar.”

And then Filavandrel pressed forward, slotting his lips against Jaskier’s in a chaste kiss, gripping his hips tight. Jaskier’s breath hitched in his chest, heart threatening to vibrate out of his throat and into Filavandrel. But Filavandrel didn’t seem to care—he pulled away, eyes darting back and forth between Jaskier’s.

“Hello.” His voice was deep, husky, dripping with desire as he licked his lips.

Jaskier sucked in a breath. “Hello.”

“Toruviel spoke with you.”

“She did.”

Filavandrel could only pull back so far before his head rested against the wall again. He watched Jaskier for a long moment before seemingly coming to a decision. His smile was gentle, eyes soft, as he reached up to caress Jaskier’s cheek. Jaskier couldn’t help leaning into the soft touch. Oh, how he craved it, hungered for it, wished that Filavandrel would take the touch further, lower—

“Dine with me?” Filavandrel asked, finally lowering his hand to trail down Jaskier’s neck, his chest. “Then maybe later...”

Yes. That sounded good with Jaskier. He pressed another quick kiss to Filavandrel’s lips and pulled back, not enough for Filavandrel to move away. “I missed you.”

Filavandrel’s lips quirked up before widening into a blindingly beautiful smile that took Jaskier’s breath away. “I know. I missed you, too.”

Jaskier’s chest almost felt too full, felt like it would burst. He could hardly contain his giddiness as he grabbed his coin purse so they could go eat. It was even harder to contain when Filavandrel drew him in once more to press another kiss to his lips before they left.

He would gladly die of happiness if it meant more kisses from his beloved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... do y'all wan't something ~steamy~ next chapter? lol


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